


The Switch

by silentside (lackluster_wonder)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: APH FACE, Age Swap, Arthur being a douche, Established Relationship, Francis being Francis, Gen, Implied Relationships, Magical Accidents, New Continent Family, Pansy!France, because Francis, for a reason
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-08 00:16:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lackluster_wonder/pseuds/silentside
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In his drunken rage, Arthur casted a spell on Francis, causing him to de-age by at least half a millennia. However there is a side-effect: His son Matthew Williams matured 500 years ahead of his time. Hilarity and chaos ensue. FACE-centric.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

The Switch

{ Prologue }

 

 

 

“Mathieu!”

 

The light and high-pitched voice immediately assaulted Matthew William’s senses. He slowly opened his eyes, blinking his blurry amethyst depths, wondering who it was. He tried to focus, only to feel dulling pain in his sockets.

 

_I couldn’t have had that many beers last night_

 

“Wake up, sleepy head!” The figure spoke once more, who by this time, have crawled over and is looming above him, tapping his cheek. He can only make out the individual’s crown of golden blond hair and small frame. Judging by the high pitch, said individual is most likely female.

 

And why is she sitting on top of him?

 

“W-who?” He mouthed the words slowly, sitting up. He clasped the girl’s slender wrist. His eyes hurting even more as he tried to focus on her face. Her blond hair just seemed to glow like a halo. Oh how he hated hangovers.

 

She tilted her head to the side, “Oh my poor dear, what have he done to you?”

 

She has blue eyes. Blond hair, blue eyes, the rest of the details are still a blur. She is sitting on his torso, her slender legs folded on his sides. She seemed to be wearing his polo shirt from last night---and nothing else.

 

“Whoah!” He quickly lets go of her wrist, then clumsily tried to get up and scramble for his glasses. The young girl got up immediately, giggling as ‘she’ watched in utter amusement.

 

“I will be downstairs, mon cher. I will explain everything during breakfast!” she chirped, twirling around before heading out of the door and downstairs.

 

A young girl, a young _french_ girl.

 

“I...I’m probably seeing things.” Matthew mumbled, slapping himself lightly on both cheeks as he headed towards the bathroom. A nice, hot quick shower. That’s what he needs right now.

 

“Hurry, breakfast is getting cold!”

 

Matthew twitched. Maybe water splashing on his face will make him see things clearly.

 

Scratching his sides and wearing nothing but his maple leaf printed boxers, he went towards the sink and bent over it, splashing cold water on his face. He briefly looked up.

 

_Odd,_ he blinked in front of the mirror, rubbing his chin. _I remember shaving last evening..._

 

\--

 

Meanwhile downstairs, the young blond girl from earlier is waiting impatiently for Matthew to arrive by the dining area, ‘her’ slender legs dangling and swinging about from her chair as she reached for her glass of wine.

 

With both hands, she held on the glass and carefully sipped from it, a liquid trail of fire burns down her throat a little. She hears some commotion upstairs and lets out a heavy sigh. Swishing the contents with one hand, she lifted the glass up, leveling it to her lazy blue gaze.

 

“Trois...”

 

The stumbling became louder.

 

“Deux...”

 

There is a surprised shout, probably Matthew struggling to get in a pair of pants.

 

“Un.”

 

He slams the glass of wine on the table and Matthew immediately barges out of his room, his face was bright red and he was panting. Not to mention, his pants were undone and it was a little too tight in certain areas. A purring sound almost escaped her mouth.

 

“Well, well... _bonjour_.”

 

Matthew was gasping, his jaw moving but he can’t form the words from his mouth.

 

“Papa?!” he cried out, finally realizing who the young girl was. He made frantic hand gestures, as if words are not enough to express or describe what just had happened. “Wha---What is this?! Wha--” He pointed at Francis Bonnefoy, his Papa, looking very much like he was during the middle ages: a young effeminate lad barely on his tweens that he could easily pass as a female.

 

And he seemed to enjoy it too, for some reason. Matthew can still not unsee the horror he saw at the mirror few minutes ago. He has matured in ways he is not ready for. For a minute, he thought he was staring at his Papa’s reflection.

 

Then he realized it was his.

 

“Angleterre.” he explained calmly, jumping off the chair, meeting Matthew who has stumbled half-way, still trying to get used to his suddenly mature and stockier physique. “He ez ze only one capable of doing zis to moi. he ez the culprit!”

 

_Well, that would explain everything._ Matthew thought grimly. His two ‘parents’ have always been at odds with each other since probably the time immemorial. Even last night during a party, Alfred had to pry a soaking wet, screaming drunken Arthur from him, threatening he would have his revenge. Matthew cannot recall what his Papa did that time, but upon seeing the snickering Gilbert and Antonio outside, he assumed he has once more been fooling around with his Dad just for the heck of it.

 

So how did he get into this mess?

 

“That’s what I want to know as well!” Francis said, as if he read his son’s mind. He reached for his hand and tugged it. “But first, breakfast.”

 

The visibly shaken Matthew reluctantly followed him towards the dining area, sitting at their respective places. “You will have crepes.” He pointed out, as Matthew stared disappointingly at his food plate. “I know how much you love pancakes, dear. But when you have a gorgeous body like that you will need something healthier!”

 

“A..Alright.” Matthew stammered, reaching out for a fork and knife wearily. His hands are still trembling. “Papa,” he asked, and then paused briefly. Should Francis be even drinking that much wine in his young physical form? “What now? Should I contact Dad about this?”

 

“Oh, no need!” he laughed lightly, dismissing the notion with the saucy flick of his hand. He sips from his glass once more. “That’s already taken care of!”

 

Somehow, Matthew feels that whatever his Papa is planning, it’s not going to be a good one.

 

 

 

 

 

**A/N:**  To be continued. This is just SO short. Well, it IS a prologue.


	2. I. Don't Drink and Hex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur wished its only the hangover he should be worrying about.

The Switch

{ Chapter 01 - Don't Drink and Hex}

 

 

 

 

_Last Night - During a World Event Post-Awards Party_

 

 

“Where is he?!” Arthur spat, soaking wet from head to foot as he slammed the doors wide open. It caught little attention: everyone else was so busy having a good time that they hardly noticed when Arthur strode in furiously, looking like a wet dog and missing one shoe as he searched for Bonnefoy.

 

From outside, one can catch a glimpse of Gilbert and Antonio trying to suppress their laughter.

 

“Where is that bloody pillock?! He is going to get it!” He roared, which again made little difference, unless Arthur’s shout can match the loud blaring music inside.

 

“Hey!” A cheery Asian with a hair curl perked up, approaches the bar area where Alfred is drinking, tapping his shoulder. The bespectacled blond turned around. “You have been looking for your old man right?” He jerked his thumb, “He is over there!”

 

Alfred placed his drink down and tilted his head a little, trying to scan the surroundings behind Yong Soo. With the bright amalgam of flashing colors and sea of people’s heads, its difficult to spot Arthur at first--until he saw him dripping wet and flailing, his angry brows contorted in an angry frown as he struggled to surge forward. Alfred heads out towards him and as he came nearer, he saw his clothes and his brows raised up to his hairline.

 

Wearing assorted jewelry, tight torn jeans and a leather vest, Arthur Kirkland looks like he is having a mid-life crisis.

 

“Whoa!” he hollered, “Hey Artie, wait up!” Arthur didn’t bother turning around, moving faster as his vision homed in on a certain Frenchman who is clearly enjoying himself, conversing and flirting with a group of women by the lounge area. Alfred’s eyes squinted only to cringe after seeing what the man was wearing, for only Francis is man enough to pull off an impossible pair of man-leggings. These two are really HAVING some serious mid-life crisis.

 

“Francis!!”

 

“Why, hello there, mon cherie~” he purred, turning around to face his comrade. “Enjoying the party?”

 

“Enjoy _this_!”

 

Arthur’s fist almost came in contact with the Francis’ jaw if Alfred wasn’t there to stop him and pull him away.

 

“You!” he turned around, struggling with the strength of Alfred’s grip. “You stay away from this, you meddling prat! This is none of your bloody business!”

 

“Hold it. Are you drunk?”

 

“I’m...I’m not!” he sputtered. It was an obvious lie, as Arthur reeked with the scent of scotch. “--Let me go!”

 

Alfred rolled his eyes as he pulled Arthur away, and then looking at Francis, who merely returned his exasperation with a naughty wide smile.

 

It’s probably better off not knowing what the two were arguing about this time.

 

“What a spoil sport!” he laughed and said something in French that Alfred certainly didn’t understand, but Arthur caught it quickly and wriggled violently against the American’s grip once more.

 

“C’mon!” Alfred grunted, “You’re causing a scene!”

 

“Mon petit...”

 

“Ahhh!” Arthur broke from Alfred’s hold, long enough to grab Francis’s arm. He lets out an evil snicker.

 

“Sed ut perspiciatis unde omnis iste natus error sit voluptatem accusantium doloremque----” his voice trembles with malicious excitement, as he took hold on Francis’s arm with such a vicious grip. “eaque ipsa quae--”

 

“That’s it!” Alfred growled, mustering enough strength to yank off the drunk and half-crazy Englishman. Arthur let out a strangled cry as he was pried off and whisked over the taller blond’s shoulder casually like a sack of potatoes. “You’re batshit drunk! We’re going home!”

 

“Ahhh! Bugger you! Put mer down you berk!”

 

A stream of English curses flew out continuously from Arthur’s mouth as Alfred all but dragged him away, kicking and struggling over his shoulder. It created quite a scene, fortunately the crowd quickly made way for them to pass through as Alfred headed out to the nearest exit.

 

“What happened?” came a soft voice. “Are they alright?”

 

Francis glanced at the fast approaching figure smartly dressed in a charcoal gray suit and pinstriped blue shirt. “Ah, Alfred! That was fast~!”

 

The tall figure frowned, he was holding a small tray filled with various bottles of liquor and handed it to Francis. “Very funny, Papa.” Matthew said sarcastically, looking visibly miffed. “Of all people you should--”

 

“Papa ez joking!” He laughed, placing the tray down as the women excitedly get their drinks. “You should have seen the look on your face~! Mignon! Come now, cher. Du calme!”

 

“ Uhum. Bien sûr, Papa...” Matthew warily glanced at the exit, he swore he heard loud English cursing, a loud sickening thud and something getting smashed into pieces. “What did you do to Dad this time? I saw him trying to beat you up a while ago...”

 

“Ah! It’s nothing!” he exclaimed, dramatically swiping his blond hair as he exudes sparkles. Matthew rolled his eyes. “You know Angleterre, he eez a tempestuous one! He eez overcome by his emotions upon seeing my gorgeous self again!”

 

“Ez..I mean is there anything else you need, Papa?” Matthew sighed, “I will be joining the guys over there in a few minutes and I wouldn’t back for a while so let me know.”

 

“It’s okay, my dear. I can take it from here.” He re-assured him with a nod, “You can go to your friends now.”

 

Matthew politely excused himself from his Papa’s company and they responded in kind by sending giggles and flirtatious looks towards his direction, enough to make him squirm. As he turned around to leave, Francis gave him a playful slap on the rump, surprising him.

 

“P-Papa!” he yelped, his face growing red. “C’mon!”

 

“You want another one, mon fils~?”

 

“NO!”

 

And with an irate huff Matthew immediately left. He can still hear his Papa’s laughter as he caught up with his other brother nations.

 

“That would be my boy, Mathieu. He ez one of the ‘biggest’ in ze whole world!” He can hear his Papa say. “After all, he does take from moi...if you know what I mean!”

 

“I’m sorry I’m late!” Matthew apologized to the taciturn Asian and to their other brothers waiting quietly on the other end of the room. “But knowing Papa...”

 

“That’s alright, mate.” the most tanned among them answered, “We all know how it’s like...so yeah!”

 

“Are you alright?” The Asian nation with slightly thick brows asked, looking concerned. “You look a little pale.”

 

“Oh it’s nothing!” Matthew shrugged, “I probably need some fresh air. So, are we heading out yet?”

 

* * *

 

 

“You should have let me--huurggh!”

 

“NO! NOT at the CARPETING!” Alfred turned around, almost unbuckling himself as he tried to toss some tissue rolls at Arthur. “Great! Just... GREAT!” He lifted his hands in exasperation, “I just had that washed the other day!”

 

The older blond wiped his mouth with the back of his palm, “Bollocks...” he groaned weakly as he tried to sit up, only to end up groggily slumping at the back of the driver’s seat. His green depths looking glazed as he turned his attention to Alfred.

 

“Arr you even my boy?” he drawled from the corner of his mouth, “Well, are you?”

 

“Here we go again...”

 

“You look nothing like meh, even have hish eyesh!” It sounds like he is starting to cry, “Hish bloody brows and his blue eyesh...”

 

Alfred sighed, turning the ignition of the vehicle and starts to drive away, turning the player on, just loud enough to drown Arthur’s moping while hitting his forehead repeatedly on his new leatherette covered car seats. Alfred stole a quick glimpse of him from the mirror as he finally collapsed to the back seat, whimpering.

 

It is a strange evening, when they came for the event; it looked like the older ones are dressed like they’re trying to relive their glory days (or something like it). Suddenly, he felt he and Matthew are a bit _too_ overdressed for the occasion.

 

At that moment his phone started to ring, playing to the tune of the Star-Spangled Banner. He flipped it open.

 

“Yo, Matt!” he answered the other line, “I’m on the road right now, so yeah. What’s up?”

 

He quickly glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, Artie just had too much to drink. ” he chuckled, as Arthur slowly slipped from his view by the mirror and collapsed face down groaning on the seat. “As always. Didn’t expect him to create a scene though. What happened anyways? Huh, You don’t have a clue?”

 

“I wur huv my rehvungh...”

 

“Oh! You found his shoe!” He laughed, “Well...I didn’t notice THAT was missing! I think that would explain why he is dripping wet. Nope, I dunno why he got wet either. But it seemed like old man Francis was involved, so I guess it’s better off not knowing! Haha!”

 

“Hul seee”

 

“Heh, just take it home with you! I’ll tell him to get it once he is sober!” He glanced over his shoulder again, “Ahaha! You should have seen this! He is face planting on his own puke right now!”

 

Arthur let out another moaning sound, cursing as he tried to push himself up, realizing he is lying in his own pool of vomit. “We are almost here now, I think he is awake, catch ya later or something, bye!”

 

* * *

 

 

Arthur vaguely remembers the events that transpired that evening, he recalls being drunk--and pissed. Very pissed with Francis Bonnefoy for some reason he hardly remembered, but he knew it involved the hotel’s pool and his Bad Touch friends.

 

And there is Alfred, whom he told him to wait for him since they were supposed to discuss something--he also forgot what it was, but he took the responsibility of calming him down and taking him home. Alfred F. Jones, in one of the rare times that he gets to act maturely, pried him off of Francis and took him home, made sure he is alright and not break anything before he left.

 

Oh dear lord, he remembers it now, he puked in his bloody car.

 

_“Ahaha! You should have seen this! He’s face planting on his own puke right now!”_

 

He swore he heard something click and some snickering as he tried to lift himself up. _Goddamn it, that git! I will get him for this!_

 

But first thing’s first, why on God’s green earth is he in the bloody attic?

 

“What the...” Arthur grumbled, trying to move his lips from the dusty wooden floor. He probably passed out there, because the last thing he remembered is Alfred clearing the living room as he tried to get him to sit down, and now, he somehow he ended up in the attic.

 

He slowly got up from the floor, pushing himself up wearily, blinking a couple of times as he tried to steady himself, getting his vision to focus. There are chalk-drawn markings on the floor, which led towards an intricate circular pattern a few feet in ahead of him. Slightly few feet from his left were several books, thrown into a corner, most of them open. Some of the pages have been torn and scattered all over the room.

 

What did he do? He asked himself. “Heavens, I don’t remember doing any of this!” He finally said out loud, his eyes searching frantically, scanning the room, fumbling over the books, the incantations, to find any clue or indication to what he did. He is not familiar with the circular pattern; it’s probably one of those spells from long ago that he didn’t use often.

 

With notes, torn pages on his hands; books and scrolls tucked underneath each arm, he paused for a while, panting, staring at the circle as he stood barefoot right in the middle. It’s very--bloody intricate, he couldn’t believe how he was able to draw and write all of this during his drunken state.

 

“Relax, Arthur. Relax..” Arthur closed his eyes briefly, trying to figure and sift mentally through all his acquired esoteric knowledge from the past millennia, trying to recall anything or something, from the past night that could give him a clue.

 

Suddenly he was overwhelmed by a strong wave of nausea and a pounding headache. Of course, a hangover. He muttered a curse under his breath, pressing a palm over his right eye, mentally exerting himself.

 

“What the hell did I do...”

 

Then his phone started to ring. Arthur almost tripped over. He didn’t realize it was in his back pocket until this morning.

 

“Hello?” He answered, raking one hand towards his hair, glancing at the phone. There is no record of the number. “Who is this?” he asked, “Oh…its you Matthew. You changed numbers? You didn’t? Well it’s not in the directory...anyway...what is it? My shoe? You called me for just my bloody...Hello? What’s that screaming?” Arthur winced at what sounds like a shrill, high-pitch voice at the background. “Your Papa? Did he took a girl home? No? Well, I can’t hear you! You need to stop whispering, son! What is it---”

 

There came a loud crash and the other line went dead.

 

“Hello? Matthew! Matthew!”

 

It was then that a fragment of what happened last evening flashed before Arthur. He remembered clawing himself away from Alfred’s grip, grabbing Bonnefoy’s arm for a good few minutes, laughing manically, and muttering something.

 

_“Sed ut perspiciatis unde omnis...”_

 

His eyes widened, finally connecting the dots of last night and the sudden urgent phone call.

 

“Shit---!” Without a minute to spare, Arthur ran out of the room.

 

* * *

 

 

_Few Hours later_

 

After rushing for a hot shower and immediately hitting the road, Arthur tried to reach Matthew on his phone to no avail. He’s not answering it, but he’s certain that his soft-spoken son is with his Father, so he decided that the first place to stop by is his place.

 

No sooner has he reached the front door did Arthur start rapping furiously, only to realize, much to his embarrassment, that there is a doorbell. Just as he was about to press the button, the door finally opened. The tall blond figure stood wearily, rubbing his eyes, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans and maple boxers peeking out of the sides.

 

“I came for Matthew, where is he?” He spat, looking straight ahead and letting himself in, not noticing the confused expression on the other blond’s face. “I know he’s here. He called me. There was screaming. There’s a girl here too! What have you done to him?!”

 

“T-There is no girl.”

 

“I knew what I heard!” He bristled, calling out as he went in, “Matthew!”

 

“D-Don’t!”

 

“What is it now, Frog?!” He turned around furiously, stomping forward when he noticed the peeking undergarment. The jeans are starting to give way. Francis just have the natural ability to shed clothes at will, especially in front of him. “I gave those maple boxers to him last Christmas! Why are you wearing them?!”

 

“Dad!” the blond cried, affixing his glasses and then shaking him. “It’s me, Matthew!”

 

“Unhand me you, per---” then the words finally sunk into him. He sputtered, his eyes widening. The well structured face with that all-familiar facial hair is definitely Francis, but the eyes, they were of a shade of purple.

 

“God Save the Queen...” he gasped. But wasn’t Francis the one he...

 

“VIVE LA REPUBLIQUE!” came a shrill voice, making Arthur turn around, he was greeted by a pair of furious bright blue eyes, a flash of blond hair and a frying pan solidly striking his face.

 

And everything went black.

 

* * *

 

 

Wake up, ma cherie~”

 

Arthur felt the left side of his face throbbing as he slowly swam into consciousness.

 

“Wake up! I know you can hear me!”

 

This is the second time he passed out within the day, with little recollection on what has transpired earlier, he felt somebody’s weight pressing on his torso and tiny fists pounding on his chest.

 

Oh god, why is that annoying voice _so familiar_.

 

He slowly opened his eyes. He’s in someone’s room and the bright light is making his head pound once more. He remembered driving all the way from his place to reach Matthew and when he came in...

 

He blinked, finally realizing that a very young and feminine Francis is staring down at him, sitting on his belly with a frying pan on his grip.

 

He then remembered what happened.

 

“Oh, bloody hell no!” He sat up with a start, only to be shoved back by Francis’s bare foot.

 

“Oh, bloody yes!” He remarked, making an emphasis on the last word, jumping up and pressing one foot hard against the Englishman’s jaw. “You have some explaining to do, Angleterre! I want some answers!” he shouted, as a white creature loomed behind him.

 

_Is that Kumajiro? Even the bear has transformed?!_

 

“Mrff--” Arthur struggled. Even in his reduced petite frame, Francis still proves to be quite formidable, pinning him down on the floor with one foot on his face and the other by his arm. He’s only wearing a loose collared shirt that, Arthur believes, belonged to Matthew.

 

And nothing else underneath, as the Englishman dreadfully realized. The now de-aged Francis is standing with legs wide open as he hovered above him, giving him quite a view.

 

“Then let me, you idiot!” He yelled, taking hold of the feet underneath his jaw and giving him one strong shove, making Francis trip backwards and temporarily lose momentum. The blond took this opportunity to snatch the lethal pan away, tossing it aside and pushing Francis hard enough for him to fall back on the floor. By this time, Arthur’s face was already blue. “A-And put something on underneath that shirt!!!”

 

“Pour quoi?” he tilted his head on the side, mockingly asking as he sat with his legs partially spread open. “Don’t you like what you see?”

 

Before Arthur can have his rebuttal, he heard a low growl and saw Matthew’s polar bear once more. So he wasn’t seeing things. Francis took this distraction as an opportunity and leap up to his feet, charging towards Arthur.

 

“Papa, enough!”

 

“Waah!”

 

He almost forgot about Matthew. Suddenly he was there behind him, his lean long arms reaching out and pulling him into a tight embrace. With Francis’s de-aged state, Matthew was a giant, even taller than him and Arthur by a good few inches even before being accelerated to his current form. His height matched his strength, a fact that hardly anyone knew since people keep forgetting him or mistaking him for Alfred.

 

“Let me go!” He struggled in his grip, as Arthur tried to register the chaos around him. ”Listen to your Papa! This ez for the best!”

 

“No, it’s not!” Matthew argued, trying to press the wriggling figure close to him, “Beating Dad for answers won’t solve anything!”

 

“Zis eez how we did it for centuries! Do not question my authority!”

 

“And how many times have you won an argument trying to beat Dad up?”

 

Francis stopped struggling.

 

“Yeah, I thought so too.” Matthew sighed, his arms finally relaxing around his paternal figure. “We can resolve this like grown-ups. He wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t worried about me.”

 

Francis mumbled, but not loud enough to be heard. “Only you?”

 

Arthur watched in disbelief, the de-aging has affected the Frog’s behavior in more ways than one and observed him throw a brief tantrum in his son’s loose embrace while slowly getting reduced to tears.

 

“He can do anything to moi! Beat me up, seize my vital regions, t-turn me into burnt pudding! b-but---” he stammered, sniffing as his blue round eyes mists up. “But look what he did to you, mon garcon!”

 

“I-it’s not intentional...he is drunk at that time remember?” Matthew said awkwardly, trying to re-assure him yet not knowing what to do. Francis is rubbing both eyes with one hand as Matthew slowly pulled him close. He then looked over his Papa’s shoulder and to a gawking Arthur, “I’m sure he didn’t mean this. Am I right....Dad?”

 

“Y-yes...” Arthur nodded, swallowing hard. “I came here to explain.”

 

Which is hard, seeing them like this. He thought grimly.

 

“I lost you once! Do you know how hard it was for me, having no choice but to give you up? Do you know how it hurts knowing he will feed you with all zat sad excuse of a cuisine?!” He cried, “He treats you like you’re not even there and now this...this is beyond unforgivable!”

 

“Nobody’s perfect, Papa.” he re-assured him once more, “Look, I turned out fine! And he said he can explain everything. Come now!” He gently prodded him towards the nearest chair, by the kitchen counter. “Everything will be alright, please...stop crying now...”

 

“I’m not crying..” Matthew heard him grumble weakly. “And...Matthew?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Can you lift Papa up? S'il te plaît? My dainty legs cannot reach the chair.”

 

* * *

 

 

Francis has considerably calmed down after crying (which he still wouldn’t admit. Pouting and mumbling that he was merely ‘appalled’ by what has happened to his favorite son.) and along with Matthew, patiently listened to Arthur’s explanation.

 

“Papa, I believe him.” Matthew said, looking at the small pouting face drinking a glass of fruit juice. “When I meet up with the guys, I called Alfred up to know what happened. Dad was really terribly drunk, which is why he hardly recalls anything!”

 

“Oh? How drunk?”

 

“Uhm...Alfred sent me a pic as a proof...”

 

“Let me see~”

 

“Oh no you don’t!” Arthur quickly reached out, stopping Matthew from taking out his cellphone. “Matthew, that is not necessary--” he glared at the smirking Francis, “Whatever Alfred sent you last night, delete it now!”

 

“Or you can just tell me, dear heart.”

 

Matthew looks torn, “Dad passed out face down on his own vomit...”

 

“I figured.” Francis resisted the urge to burst out giggling as Arthur shot him a deathly glare. “But that does not explain how you got affected and that’s what I want to know.”

 

“Delete it, Matthew. NOW.”

 

“Y-yes...”

 

“As I told you before...” Arthur answered, his gaze not leaving Matthew’s phone until the discriminating photos were deleted. “I can’t remember what I exactly did, but I do remember it was only YOU that I cast a curse upon.”

 

“And that curse was?”

 

“I only remembered a few words when I took hold of you...I know it has something to do with time and balance.”

 

“But why my Mathieu? What has he got to do with any of zis? It’s me you want!”

 

Arthur placed both palms on his forehead, sighing heavily. He tried to figure that out as well. Then it hit him. “Wait.” he said, looking up with a start. “Did you have any form of physical contact with anyone after I cursed you?”

 

“Non...” Francis pondered wistfully, “I only held my fine glass of wine zat evening. And all these women all they do was talk about zemselves....”

 

“Papa, you did.”

 

“Moi?”

 

“Before I left, you squeezed my bottom. Remember?” Matthew continued, “You even asked me if I want another!”

 

Francis blinked a couple of times, slowly straightening up as the words sunk in. “Oh dear...” he tapped his fingers on the table edges, biting his lip. “I think I do remember doing that...”

 

Arthur facepalmed, “There you have it!” he exclaimed, “You passed it on to Matthew!”

 

Then came a brief moment of silence, before Matthew finally spoke up, shifting uncomfortably. “So...uh...what will happen now? To the two of us?”

 

“I’ll go back and check in my library once more.” Arthur answered, “If there’s any clue to which incantation I used in particular, I can sort it out from the pile. It might take awhile, because I’m not familiar with it at all, this...it’s...it’s probably a spell that I haven’t used for god knows how long or something I shouldn’t even be using.”

 

“Well, you can try asking someone else for help?” Francis asked, swinging his legs under the chair as he propped his chin on his hands, looking at Arthur impatiently. “Our dilemma will be resolved faster that way.”

 

“Don’t be foolish! No one is as familiar with what I do or have the same knowledge as...”

 

Francis smiled.

 

Arthur’s face grew pale, “NO! I’m not asking my brothers’ help for this!”

 

“Your _older_ brothers, Angleterre.” Francis rolls his eyes, “If there is anything beyond you, it is highly possible that they know all about it.”

 

“You just want to know how _he_ is doing!” Arthur sputtered, a dash of red becoming evident on his cheeks.

 

“And when he sees me now I assume flames of young love will be re-kindled once more~!” Francis answered sarcastically, to which Matthew reacted by facepalming. The blond reached out from across the table, giving Arthur a quick head slap. “I’m not just referring to him, you imbecile! You have other brothers, the one who lives near you for instance!”

 

“Yes Dad, he seemed pretty nice!” Matthew agreed, “Except that one time when we have a Rugby match or was that football...”

 

“Wait!...what?!”

 

“Well Papa thought I need to learn from the best when it came to field sports so he told me t...” and Matthew was abruptly cut off when Francis kicked him from underneath. “Yeow!”

 

“And I don’t know this?”

 

“What? You are not his only parent!” Francis pouted, as Matthew whimpered clutching his leg underneath the table. “He needed assistance and I have closer ties to them than you, your own kin!” He saw Arthur’s brow twitch. “Zat’s right. Brings back memories, non?”

 

“Enough already!” Arthur pounds his fists on the table, “I get it! I’m going to pay them a visit and see what happens. There! Satisfied?”

 

“Completely~!”

 

Matthew can almost feel the heated stares the two are silently exchanging. “So...it’s settled then? Dad...Papa?”

 

Arthur was the first to break away from the stare, standing up. “Yes, Matthew.” he answered wearily, grabbing his coat. “I will head back home, grab a few notes and call them up.”

 

“Pay them a visit!”

 

“Yes, I will also pay them a visit.” He said against gritted teeth, glaring at Francis before turning back to Matthew. “This might take awhile, so if you feel anything strange, just call me up and let me know.”

 

“You mean, both of us.” Francis answered, trying to get down the chair with some difficulty. It’s one of the disadvantages of being reduced to his youthful state. Matthew sighed and helped him down, sensing the sadness and disappointment in his Papa’s voice.

 

“Well, I suppose you can manage.” Arthur said tersely, not even bothering to look up. “For now, the only choice both of you have is to adjust to your current bodies. And you--” he pointed at Francis, like a father scolding a child. “You will not have a problem with that, but Matthew will need a lot of time getting used to his.”

 

They both turned to Matthew, looking awkward and uncomfortable in his sudden ‘growth.’ He resembled the frog in some physical aspects that sent shivers to Arthur’s spine. In fact, mistaking him as Francis earlier, with the same toned built and the...hair. No doubt, the hair. No he is not referring to his blond locks, but the bloody hair that is all over his body and his face. He watched as the lad scratched his chin impatiently and rubbed his arms about, feeling naked with only a loose robe draped over his shoulders.

 

“..I...I will try shaving later.” He said, as if to answer Arthur’s mortified expression. “---or have myself waxed, I dunno.”

 

“Non!” Francis squealed, almost piercing both of their eardrums. “You are not going to get rid of ze body hair! Non! I wouldn’t allow it!”

 

“But Papa!” Matthew objected, standing up and towering Francis. “It’s uncomfortable! I’m--I’m not used to all this hair!”

 

“By now, we all know you have inherited my gorgeous looks. It’s no longer a surprise that you will grow zat amount of hair in a few centuries!” He threw his arms in the air, “You might as well get used to it now!”

 

“I suggest you shave, Matthew.” Arthur pointed out, ignoring the puffed little blond-framed face in front of him. “Waxing will be bloody painful. Make sure you wear your glasses all the time...”

 

“I wear my glasses all the time.”

 

“That’s good...jolly good.” Arthur cannot bring himself to look at Matthew straight in the eye, despite the lad’s harmless expression. “Tie your hair. Make sure that curl of yours really stands out. I mean, it’s already bad you’re being mistaken for that idiot brother of yours---”

 

“I’m sorry...”

 

“You have nothing to apologize for, Matthew!”

 

“Dad, you’re terrified of me. I know it’s because of the way I look---” he points at himself, “I look very much like Papa.”

 

“Oui!”

 

“NO!” He almost screamed, “That’s not it, Matthew! Look--” he grabbed him by his arms. “This is just on the outside! Deep inside you are still my sweet, polite, little Matthew...”

 

“I doubt the ‘little part’...ahonhon...”

 

“Shut up, Francis!”

 

“ Dad, I-I’ll be just fine... I think I’ll be going out to er... get something... that fits... ”

 

Arthur sighed and gave his son a pat on the shoulder. Those shoulders felt quite harder than usual and it made Arthur feel extremely uncomfortable. “ And will you please give your... your father some decent clothes. Your clothes are making him look like...”

 

Francis cocked an eloquently phrased eyebrow. “ Like what, Angleterre?”

 

Arthur snorted. “ Will you please help your son get through this phase at least? You’re enjoying your second lease in youth while he has to grapple with everything you are... or were. I will be going now and I don’t want you causing him anymore trouble.”

 

Francis excitedly grabbed Matthew’s hand. “ So we are going shopping, mon fils?”

 

Matthew sighed. “ It’s not actual shopping, Papa. We’ll be getting some clothes for you so you won’t feel too small in mine. At least until Dad figures out how to get us back to normal.”

 

“ As soon as possible.” Arthur agreed and opened the door. “ This has to be done quickly before anyone else figures out what happened and everything falls into utter chaos. I will be going now Matthew. I’ll be checking up on you and the frog later.”

 

“Okay, Dad.”

 

“Au Revoir~!”

 

Arthur grunted, briefly glancing worriedly at Matthew before heading towards his car. As they both watched his vehicle head out of the main driveway, Francis squeezed Matthew’s hand tight.

 

“I think we better get going now...” Matthew whispered, “I still have some extra cash with me from last night, we could drive by the local outlet and....”

 

“NON!” Francis stomped his foot. Honestly, his Papa’s habit of suddenly shouting is going to give him a heart attack, if it’s possible or worse, a burst eardrum. “Have you forgotten, who I am, garcon? I would rather impale my bottom on cacti than don such cheaply manufactured clothes!”

 

“Papa!” Matthew rubbed his ear, tugging Francis back inside, closing the door behind them. “Be reasonable! I don’t have that kind of money with me!”

 

“Oui, you don’t.” He answered happily, “But I have a special privilege card! You look for ze owner, show it, and 80% off in all the latest items! If they’re in a better mood, we get everything for free!”

 

“R-really?”

 

“Really!” he chirped, “Now, try to get into some of your comfier clothes and let’s go to your car! Hurry! The shops will open in about half an hour!”

 

Matthew caught up with his excitable father, “Well it’s not exactly a car...it’s more like a Jeep actually.”

 

“Car, Jeep.. Who cares! Let’s go!” He hopped excitedly towards the stairs and twirled around. “ Oh... And Matthew?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“We will buy some new clothes for YOU as well!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- The frenchness in his Anglais ez inspired by Pepe Le Pew. Even one line that Francis said there is derived from one of his many quotes. I do not kid. (And Arthur is Penelope the cat :p)
> 
> \- I did not follow canon and Matt here is about a little over 6 ft and Pansy!Francis probably almost around 5 ft...or less  
>    
> \- Arthur and his OC!Brothers: The first one brought up is Scotland (when Francis mentioned sarcastically the 'rekindling of young love') and the other one is Wales. I read a couple of fics involving this OC and is often described as Proto-Matthew Williams. I'm not going to elaborate them here, but imho, they're well-versed with magic and folklore probably even a little better than their brother.
> 
> Again, I'm not quite versed with slangs and French terms, so any help is appreciated in revising this back-from-a-major hiatus fic 8|


	3. II. Makeover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis takes Matthew for some shopping~

The Switch

{ Chapter 02 – Makeover}

 

 Nobody shops like Francis. He is a man with impeccable taste and shopping to him is almost like a form of art, a mastered skill. It will take him hours just browsing through items, scrutinizing the quality between his fingertips and criticizing every detail and muttering how he could have done better---which is why Matthew avoids every chance to go shopping with his Papa, from clothes to groceries. However, because of the current bizarre and complicated situation, this time he couldn’t say no.

 

Getting him to wear his clothes proved quite difficult. Matthew insisted he wear something other than just a shirt and gave him a pair of slacks, long sleeves and a vest; clothes that he has outgrown ages ago. Francis stubbornly refused to wear them at first, commenting that they’re too ‘loose and frumpy’ for his taste until the taller blond firmly pointed out the time remaining before the shops open.

 

Matthew swore he never saw his Papa move so fast. In less than 15 minutes, he’s completely dressed from head to foot, and the poor lad had to run to catch up to him as he climbed excitedly inside his Jeep.

 

“What ez this?!” He heard him gasp as he got to the front seat, buckling himself. “Empty beer bottles? Why ez there grass?”

 

“I wasn’t expecting company, Papa.” Matthew grumbled, sitting beside him and inserting the key to the ignition. He turned it and the vehicle quickly roared to life. “And please, hold on tight.”

 

* * *

 

And Matthew thought his Dad, Arthur Kirkland, is a terrible backseat driver.

 

His Papa insisted that they hurry and he reluctantly obliged. They took to his jeep, since it’s the only vehicle near the driveway and as soon as they sped out to the main road, his Papa is already screaming out every colorful word in the French language.

 

It was a good thing though that his Papa has a thick blond mass of hair, as the wind blew it on his face, it muffled his screams. He tried to push his locks away, but as Matthew made sharp turns he kept falling backwards. By the time they made it to the boardwalk where all the expensive shops are, his ears have nearly fallen off his head and a purple-faced Francis looked like he was mauled by three hairdressers.

 

“ You...” He made an effort to keep from expelling something out of his system. “ Mon Dieu, do not drive like that again! Are you trying to kill us!? I never knew that sourcils taught you such murderous driving!”

 

Matthew sighed and tried to keep his little Papa from collapsing. He reminded him of those princesses in distress in some children’s movie. Only that he’s about to puke.

 

“ Papa, you were telling me to hurry. I was just following orders.”

 

“ I told you to hurry. Not try to ram us against everything we pass by. Mon coeur almost jumped out of my throat! Never do that again!”

 

“Alright..alright, I’m sorry.” Matthew said, helping his Papa to steady himself. “Now...” he looked at the string of shops lined up from across the horizon, he can see some people inside starting to draw the blinds from the windows and putting out displays. “Where do we go first?”

 

“ Tsk! I want to change your clothes first! We’re going to that shop where I buy my shirts and you will look every inch a man after I’m through with you. Hurry! It’s that shop! It’s open already!” And Francis pointed at the third shop across the street, pulling Matthew impatiently from behind him.

 

“Now remember, show ze owner my card and always ask for ze new collection! Do not forget!” Francis’s eyes were round and shiny and his voice can hardly contain his excitement. He is like a child eager to enter a brand new theme park.

 

“Look for the owner. New collection. Got it.“ Matthew nodded, “C-can I choose my clothes?”

 

“Nooon~”  

 

* * *

 

 The first shop they visited was an exclusive boutique by one of Francis’ favorite designers and the first thing that Matthew noticed was the room’s spacious interior: It’s large and almost completely bare, save for a selected row of clothes, fine opulent furniture and ornate mannequin displays. Matthew didn’t realize he was mumbling out loud how impractical everything looked until his Papa jabbed him lightly on his stomach.

 

“ Stop acting like Angleterre!” He whispered, pointing out to two salesladies who possibly overheard him. One of them snottily raised an eyebrow, gave Matthew a quick going over from head to toe, whispering something to her companion in French before taking a suit from the rack and approaching them.

 

“She called you another dumb tasteless American.” Francis muttered, biting his lip. Matthew looked almost apologetic when he saw how sad his Papa looked, knowing how much it hurts him as well that he is always being mistaken as his older brother. But he had to admit, he did stuck out like a sore thumb in his current surroundings: wearing a pair of loose cargo shorts, a bright red shirt and socks in strapped sandals. He was a far cry from the sophisticated clientele that the boutique catered.

 

“Bonjour~!” the saleslady flashed them a bright smile and Francis rolled his eyes. “Ez there anything in particular you are looking for, monsieur?”

 

Before Matthew could utter an apology, Francis already spoke.

 

“We would like a suit, please!” He replied brightly, much to Matthew’s surprise. Francis have neutralized his accent and his expression suddenly changed, smiling sweetly at the young lady in front of them. He never knew his Papa can mimic an English accent. “My Papa and I just came from a looong 7-hour flight from London and he has to meet up with his business associates in a few hours, it’s going to be some fashionable event and he needs to suit up real quick!”

 

“Oh, well zat would explain _this_ I suppose.” The woman replied, charmed with Francis while eyeing Matthew critically with silent amusement. “Well, petite. I think we will let your Papa decide what he would want to wear, no?”

 

Matthew nodded and the lady presented the suit tucked in her arm, “How about zis? This just came recently, it’s part of our current spring collection!”

 

“Do they have that comes in uh...” Matthew tried to find words, “Dark gray?”

 

“What shade in particular, Monsieur?” the lady asked, signaling the other sales lady standing near the racks. “Charcoal? Dark Slate? Or should I suggest, Gunmetal gray? It’s a classic favorite among our patrons.”

 

“Uh..”

 

Poor Matthew look like he would faint at the choices being laid out in front of him.

 

“Well?”

 

Matthew’s head reeled at the onslaught of options. He thought gray meant gray. He wasn’t expecting this at all.

 

“ How about red?” Francis piped in.

 

“You mean burgundy?” The saleslady frowned lightly, as if questioning his taste. Francis’s brow twitched.

 

Matthew tried to help, “It’s not really a formal suit it’s...”

 

“Something more casual then?”

 

“Uhmm...”

 

He is at a loss now. And the saleslady is growing a bit impatient.

 

“ Something like that wine, papa! You know...” Francis pulled Matthew’s arm with a knowing look in his eyes. “ The one you ALWAYS had when you went to PARTIES. I LIKE that color.”

 

“No!” his eyes widened, as if silently begging for Francis to stop. “That color is too loud, _son_. These are conservative people!”

 

“Monsieur, if you would want our recent collection also has--”

 

“Shush!” Francis suddenly cuts the saleslady off, lifting his right hand, commanding her to stop. “Stop giving us that selection. Let us choose!”

 

“I beg your pardon~?” she gasped, maintaining a strained smile on her face. “ Petit garçon, this have just arrived and it comes in an early bird discount of $ 5,000.00!”

 

Matthew felt a part of him just died. He can get himself something more useful and practical with that kind of money. Like a one-way ticket out of this mess.

 

“You are not fooling us!” He pouted, placing both hands on his hips, “How dare you present to my Papa last year’s spring collection, we all know zat’s already 50% off!”

 

The saleslady stepped back, trying to form words out of her mouth.

 

“I want to talk to ze owner of this establishment! This ez unacceptable! Mon dieu!” He lifted his hands in dismay, as the salesladies gawked at him. “And my Papa ez not a dumb American! He ez a French-Canadian! Don’t you dare...!”

 

Did Francis even realized his act is slipping?

 

“His Maman is French.” Matthew said, quickly covering Francis’ mouth before he said anything more. “S-she was a very... er... fashion-sensitive lady. She passed her... skills on to him, as you can see.”

 

“O-Oui.” The saleslady nodded, “So it seems.”

 

“I have ze privilege card for this establishment!” Francis struggled, pulling Matthew’s hand off his mouth and materializing a gold card, handing it out to the saleslady. “Show this to the owner! Now!”

 

She reluctantly took the card and quickly turned to her heels, clothing in hand, furiously calling her equally surprised companion to call for their supervisor immediately.  

 

 “ Papa, what are you doing!? You’ll get us in trouble!” Matthew whispered frantically.

 

“Non, with what she did, she will be the one _in_ trouble!” Francis smiled impishly, “Just you wait, my dear. When ze owner arrive, we will be treated like Kings!”

 

“ Papa...” Matthew sighed helplessly. “ Don’t make this hard for them already! Let’s just buy the clothes and get going!”

 

They heard the door open, and a smartly dressed man in his late 30’s with a pencil thin moustache and slicked back black hair came in. He fixed his collar and saw Matthew, and just like those before him, gave him a quick going over with an unimpressed expression written all over his face.

 

“Ah, Louis, I’m glad ez you!” Francis cried, but the man just gave him a baffled expression. “Your staff ez giving me a hard time!”

 

“Pardon moi?” he was handed the gold card and takes a look at it. “But who are you?”

 

“It’s moi!”He tried jumping up, “Ez complicated but it’s Moi!”

 

It took a good few minutes for the information to sink in as Louis suspiciously glanced from the card and to the blue-eyed blond child standing in front of him.

 

“ When you were in London, August, 1997 you were ...” And Francis tiptoed to whisper things into the supervisor’s ear. His eyes widened and he looked at Francis, who was smiling smugly, from head to foot and he brought his hand to his mouth. Matthew was beyond curious as to what his Papa said to make the man react like so.

 

“Mon dieu!” He gasped,  “Ez it you, Monsieur---? But why....”

 

“Shush!” He tugged his hand, leading him away from Matthew. “ I’ll explain everything. Let’s go over there so no one will hear us!”

 

Matthew watched as Francis and Louis talked and whispered. There was a moment when both looked at him and he felt like they were talking about him and he felt very, very uneasy.He saw Francis nod and glance at him one more time and gave him a sunny smile.

 

Louis spoke after what seemed an eternity.

 

“Ingrid! Stella!” he strode towards his staff, clapping both hands. “I will have a vord with both of you later--especially you, Ingrid.” he pointed out, rubbing his palms as his worried personnel approached him. “First, give Monsieur Williams here everything he needs!” He pointed at the surprised Matthew. “Take out the latest collection that arrived this morning! Stop gawking! Hurry! Hurry! Don’t keep him waiting!”

 

And the ladies quickly ran to the supplies closet to get the clothes they have yet to display. Amidst the rush, Matthew went to the impatient supervisor who warmly greeted him.

 

“ Oui, monsieur? Anymore requests?”

 

Matthew hesitated. “ Uhm... If you don’t mind sir. I... I’d like to ask you not to give uh... Madame Ingrid and uh... Stella...” Then he drew himself up. “ It’s not their fault really. So I’d appreciate it if we just let the incident pass.”

 

Louis was slightly surprised. “ But Monsieur, your father...”

 

“ Yes I know. Papa was slightly insulted. But it’s fine. Please. Just this once.” And he looked at the busy salesladies a bit sadly that Louis understood what he meant.

 

“ You are a kind man, Monsieur.” He gave the blonde a pat on the shoulder. Matthew smiled shyly.

 

Unknown to him, Francis watched quietly. His lips forming a fond little smile.

 

“ Mon petit bébé..”

 

“Everything is now ready, Monsieur.” One of the salesladies approached Louis quietly and the supervisor turned around.

 

“Monsieur Williams, ready when you are!”

 

Francis then leapt down from his cushioned seat, this will be his favorite part.

 

* * *

 

Remember those romantic comedy movies, when the protagonist will have the time of his/her life getting a makeover, trying different outfits and new clothes?

 

Well, it only works in movies.

 

Matthew felt uncomfortable having to try new threads with a fitting style that he is not used to wearing, with a very eager Louis there to assist him and his Papa sitting eagerly by the couch watching him as he strolled outside for the first time from the fitting room in front of three large life size mirrors.

 

“You have ze most beautiful eyes!” Louis exclaimed, and Matthew noticed he is wearing one of those large framed glasses. “Just like ze late great Elizabeth Taylor . Anything she wore complimented her beauty! And you monsieur, you might be a diamond in the rough, but with a little polish you can be as---magnifique!”

 

“Uhum, Louis...?”

 

“Oui, Monsieur?”

 

“You can like..stop squeezing my arms now.”

 

“Ah, my apologies!” And Louis stepped back from behind him. Matthew frowned, feeling like his own private space was invaded, with the man pressed against him from behind, his face over his shoulder and his hands running up and down his arms. If he went any further, he could have squeezed his buttocks.

 

“My dear, Louis is just helping you!” Francis chuckled, “ That’s just how he is. He always loves a challenge!”

 

“I know it’s just...” he mumbled. Can he help me without _touching_ me? he grumbled internally.

 

“Now turn around~!”

 

Matthew slowly turned around and blushed a little when he saw the sparkle of amusement in his Papa’s eyes. He sat there in the small cushioned couch, pretty as you please, with his legs crossed, taking a delicate sip from his glass of juice. “Now turn again but remove your coat this time!”

 

“Papa, you just want to see my butt.”

 

He watched in dismay as his Papa and Louis laughed. “He is a blunt one, isn’t he?”

 

“Unfortunately, he takes that from Angleterre.” Francis commented, “Now don’t be stubborn, fils, just remove it and turn around so I can see how everything fits. S’il vous plait~?”

 

He sighed, “Alright.” and reluctantly removed the coat, slung it over his shoulder and slowly turned around, and rolled his eyes when he saw how his Papa’s eyes widen silently with delight.

 

“Zat eez more like it.” He almost purred, “The lilac shade of your shirt underneath the knitted deep mauve one compliments your skin tone.”

 

“It’s pink.”

 

“Lilac eez not the same as pink! Mon Dieu! I swear Angleterre just taught you basic colors and nothing more!”

 

“If anything Monsieur, you pulled off the look quite nicely~!” Louis followed, as Francis puffed his face and slumped back in the thick couch, sinking in it. “Not all men can pull of ze look and besides--” he stands up, approaching Matthew. The blond took a couple of steps back. “If you are worried about the color being too feminine, it’s balanced pretty well by the light khaki shade of your coat and your slacks.”

 

“Precisely!” Francis added, “I couldn’t have said it any better! Eez this the latest collection from last month’s Paris fashion week?”

 

“Why yes it is. The collection is fresh from ze runway!” and Louis approached him from behind, making Matthew jump a little. “You see Monsieur Williams, your Papa told me your style has always been refined casual. Now with your new ‘physique’ you will need more tailored pieces and zis collection is defined as ‘growing up’!”

 

“That’s a strange name for...a collection.” Is all Matthew can mutter, “I think it’s comfortable, it doesn’t have to look special, really. I mean...”

 

Louis interrupted him with a mirthful laughter that sent chills to the blond’s spine. It’s like his Papa’s laughter.

 

“Oh non~! Our ‘Growing Up’ selection you see, ez like saying, it’s about time to dress up! Scrub up, every day is an occasion to look your best!” Matthew can see the man’s passion about the clothing and was careful to avoid him a little as he moved around him, making emphasis on his words with his hands.

 

“Ez still a casual look, just like you wanted--but somehow more polished and cleaner!” He continued, until they’re already facing each other. “When did you last see young men in proper coats, a well-ironed shirt and neat trousers?”

 

“Last night, when I was at a party with Papa.” he answered flatly, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world.

 

“Your boy is so funny, Monsieur!” He chuckled, before giving Matthew a quick slap on the rump.    

 

Matthew bit his lip. Papa’s countrymen are so much like him that it’s almost painful.

 

“Mathieu, this is different from those pathetic excuse for fashion that you call clothes which most of you young ones wear during events!” Francis pointed out, “They’re just flashy but without ze taste and the art.” He stretch out his arms, making no effort to stand up as he gestured to Matthew’s form. “This kind of look conveys an aura of great elan and sophistication!”

 

“What do you think, Monsieur Bonnefoy?” Louis asked, folding his arms and rubbing his chin thoughtfully, seeking Francis’s approval as he looked at Matthew from head to toe.

 

“Hmm, mmm. It’s something I would definitely wear on a normal day.”

 

“This is what you wear on a normal day?” Matthew gasped, pulling the slim long collar of his coat in front of him.  

 

“Why yes, mon petit~! Didn’t you notice that I always wear suits in ze conference meetings?”

 

“Yeah, mostly white ones though...”

 

Francis’ smile grew wider.

 

“NO, I’m not going to wear white! I-I’m fine with this selection!” Matthew argued, but Francis was not listening as he reached out from his couch to get himself another serving of fruit juice from a pitcher at the nearby table. Matthew didn’t notice that they serve snacks in high-end boutiques.

 

“As I was saying earlier,” he resumed, plopping comfortably. “I get to choose your clothes! Your physique and looks are so close to mine zat anything I wear, you can wear!”

 

“If not better~”

 

“Louis!” Francis snapped his fingers.

 

“ Oui?”

 

“ Since we are in a hurry, we’ll just be getting this for the time being, and maybe that red one you showed me a while ago. I might come back again soon if our situations remain the same.”

 

“ Ah, Papa!” Matthew almost whined.

 

“ Save it, Mathieu. We still have to buy MY clothes. And that would take a longer time.”

 

“ Oui Monsieur.” Louis agreed and clapped his hands at the salesladies which sent them running for the register and the stocks. Francis lazily handed Louis his card, which the latter graciously received. Matthew carefully padded back to the dressing room. But Francis saw him.

 

“ Where are you going, mon coeur?”

 

Matthew froze. “ I... uhm... I was going to change back to my clothes so these wouldn’t get dirty and...”

 

Francis rolled his eyes. “ Mon cher, you are wearing those NOW. There is no way I’m allowing you back into those monstrosities. It will be such a pity to hide such a wonderful frame behind such clothes. Now be a good boy and wear that and be fabulous. Make papa proud, s’il vous plait? With much amour?”

 

Matthew looked at his father and sighed in total surrender. Francis has driven him up a wall. The little Frenchman looked at him with such profound love and pride that he just COULDN’T bring himself to say no.

 

Curse this kind and gentle nature.

 

“ Y-yes, papa...”

 

He propped himself up on the mirror. When he looked up, he saw his father staring back at him with confused purple eyes. Oh what will Arthur say?

 

“Monsieur, I placed a phone call on ze other shops across the street.” Louis placed the receiver down. “So the both of you won’t have to suffer the inconvenience that happened earlier.”

 

“Ah, merci beaucoup~!” And tugging Matthew behind him, he waved at Louis, “I will be back later!”

 

Francis pushed the doors of the boutique wide open and was greeted with the most wonderful sight: All the shops across the street have, one by one opened their stores for the day, ready to receive Francis Bonnefoy.

 

“They’re waiting for us!” He squeezed Matthew’s hand, giddy with excitement. “Shall we start with that one...” He looked up and smiled naughtily. “ _Papa_?”

 

* * *

 

As they entered the shops one by one, Matthew and Francis kept up with their charade of being Father and Son in front of store personnel: He is a French-Canadian divorcee living in London and Francis spent most of his summer with his ‘Maman’ in Paris, she is an editor-in-chief of a fashion magazine, which would explain his vast knowledge of fashion, his keen eye on clothes and his shifting accent.

 

The owners of the boutiques who were informed much earlier knew immediately who they were, and wasted no time preparing their best collections, all freshly released from last month’s Paris’s Fashion Week.

 

“I didn’t know you can speak with an English accent!” Matthew whispered once, as Francis eagerly tried a pair of deep navy blue shorts. “Does dad even know about it?”

 

“Oh, bloody yes~!” He giggled, mocking Arthur’s tongue. “The best way to know ze enemy is to act and think like the enemy and as much as it hurts me to speak that horrible accent, it always works to my advantage!”

 

“Yeah, so you can annoy him endlessly.”

 

Francis laughed, “Ah, true...true”

 

Then they went to look for shoes. Matthew was already carrying almost a dozen packages by then. He hoped against hope that Francis would just buy at least three pairs. But knowing him, that would never be enough. Especially now that he has reverted to that age when children can wear any type of shoe that came in all shades of numerous colors.

 

“ Mat... Papa! Please get those blue ones on the third top shelf. They’re a bit... to high for me.”

 

“ Which type of blue are we talking about exactly, mon fils?” Matthew shuddered a bit when he said the last two words.

 

“ The prussian blue one next to the light cyan one, Papa. No, not that one. That’s navy blue. The one next to... Non, zat one, papa.  Over zer, see? Ze one with ze blue rose. There, that one. Ah, but wait, that one looks better zan zis. Ah mon cher papa, that one! C’est beau!”

 

Matthew groped and picked every shoe that Francis mentioned. And he was so confused by all the types of blue that he made a mental note to memorize all the different types of colors when he gets home so he wouldn’t have to deal with this any longer.

 

“ Merci, mon cher papa.” And Francis kissed Matthew’s cheek when the latter bent to strap one of the shoes to his foot. Few feet from him, he can hear some of the female personnel sigh.

 

“They think you are so sweet.” Francis whispered to Matthew, “It’s not everyday they zee a father helping his son shop for clothes!”

 

Matthew merely nodded curtly as he felt the blush burn in his cheeks. His Papa just had to choose a shoe with such thin laces on them.

 

“My Papa has one of the biggest in zee world!” Francis exclaimed, waving his hands. “--if you all know what I _mean_ , mademoiselles~”

 

Matthew gave the lace a tight pull, “Aiee! Papaa, that hurts!”

 

“I’m sorry, cher fils.” Matthew looked up, his brow twitching. Even in his child-like form, his Papa still finds it funny to crack lewd jokes. “But what is it that you were saying to the nice ladies, hm?”

 

“I’m not finished!” he pouted, “I’m telling them you got the biggest heart in zee world!”

 

He rolled his eyes as the women giggled and were instantly charmed by Francis ‘sweet and innocent’ demeanor.

 

* * *

 

About a good 3 hours and a dozen shopping boxes and bags later, Matthew was about to collapse from exhaustion. And yet, Francis is skipping happily and ever as bright as day, resembling a child model right out of a fashion magazine spread in his shiny deep blue loafers, high-high argyle socks, dark colored pair of shorts that matches with his coat and a tiny beret cap. The owners of the stores feel a light dash of dread and excitement at the sight of him, having been informed of what happened and knowing who he is. And there are those who don’t know, mostly young women assistants or the local clientele dropping by, finding him quite an irresistible darling: a flaxen blond, blue-eyed charmer with an extensive knowledge on haute couture and who also happened to completely adore his rather shy and quiet father.

 

Matthew has gotten so used to being ignored that he found it hard to be himself with all the people watching and observing them.

 

“Dad told us not to draw too much attention!” Matthew pointed out, as they headed to eat at a classy cafe downtown, watching helplessly as Francis had another serving of a rather large slice of cake. As much as he wanted to have one, his little Papa happened to also know the chef of the establishment and strictly told him that Matthew can only have a small serving of sweets and a sandwich. There is a fancy name for the sandwich, but with all the information overload he received earlier, it escaped him. All he knew is that there are so many leafy greens in it.

 

“ The healthier the better, mon coeur.” Francis pointed out with his fork as Matthew glumly took a bite. “When you got zat type of body, you need to maintain it with good food. Not too much sweets.”

 

“Not too much sweets, but lots of wine.”

 

“As I said earlier, ez healthy. Rouge vin ez good to the heart!” he reminded him, noticing the dour expression on Matthew’s face. “If you have at least two slices of this--” he pointed at what seemed to be a two-layered cake slice, “You will have unwanted expansions in your territory in a week and we won’t want that won’t we?”

 

“You mean I’ll get fat.”

 

“ Such a bright boy!” And he forked a large piece. “But with this young body? I can burn ze calories easily and eat lots of zis without the feeling the guilt!” and Francis took the large piece in his mouth, chewing it slowly and rolling his eyes towards the heavens, eliciting a low moan that is almost orgasmic in nature. “O-oh mon dieu, it’s been ages since I had this many! I...I can almost hear the angels sing! A-aahhh...!”

 

Matthew facepalmed, the cafe’s patrons curiously turn towards their direction, as Francis’s moans becomes increasingly louder each time he consumed a bite.

 

“ Oh my! Oh my!” Francis gobbled up the cake in wolfish bites.

 

“Would you like another slice again, Monsieur?”

 

Matthew almost jumped, he even didn’t notice that the chef is already standing behind him.

“Oh, oh! I would like to try something different this time!” Francis licked his lips, pausing wistfully “I would like to have some...Tartelettes de Framboises au Mascarpone~!”

“Raspberry Tartlets?” Matthew looked up and faced the chef. “I’d like to have some as well...”

“Oh, no..no Monsieur!” The man chuckled, “Your Papa strictly told me zat you can only have ze White Crème Brûlée. Here have some more of our finest wine!”

 

And Matthew sighed, resigning to his seat as the Chef filled his glass for the third time.

 

His Papa is clearly enjoying this, so much so that he’s already making a mess of himself, with smeared chocolate icings on the sides of his mouths and cheeks. Matthew got his napkin, reached out to his Papa, tipped his chin lightly and dabbed his mouth before he can reach for his tall glass of water.

 

“Oh, merci~!” and Francis moved his face closer, letting Matthew clean his face. The taller blond can almost hear the sighs coming from the patrons behind them.

 

“After this, we go home...right?” His tone is almost pleading when a delicious plate of raspberry tartlets is served in front of Francis. It smelled so delicious. Matthew nearly fainted at the wonderful smell wafting in his direction when suddenly Francis dove his fork on the tartlet and gobbled a piece.

 

“ Bien sur, mon cher. We must not keep your FATHER waiting.” Francis smiled naughtily as he munched on the sweet treat.

 

And Matthew suddenly dreaded going home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I need to place my notes in the beginning to give people fair warning. I’m sorry if I butcher the romantic language in any way ;;
> 
> This chapter have lots of Francis x Matthew fatherly bonding. Next chapter will be the other half of the family.

**Author's Note:**

> This fiction was written back in my ffnet dated 2011, now revised and tweaked somewhat.  
> http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6879401/1/The-Switch
> 
> It was stalled for personal reasons and its only now that I'm deciding to wrap it up.( I'm still getting follows from it and I feel bad.) Updates will be here first and then there. I would be also needing someone to correct my French and English slang as well.


End file.
